I, Abaddon
I died quietly on a couch that smelled of instant ramen and regret.
I woke up chained to a throne of obsidian fire, wearing the skin that ended worlds before breakfast.
They called the body War.
The First Horseman. The Red Rider.
The last being in all creation who still believed humanity was worth saving.
I am not him.
I am Elias Kane, thirty-four years old, former data janitor, current parasite inside a god-killing machine.
Every morning I look into eyes that have watched Eden burn and ask the only question that still matters:
If I put the sword down, will the screaming finally stop?
If I pick it up again, will I still remember why I ever wanted it to?
The Imperium calls me saint and daemon in the same breath.
Abaddon offers me a throne built from the bones of my brothers.
The Charred Council begs.
Khorne laughs.
And somewhere, very far away, three other Horsemen are waking up because the one who kept the Balance no longer believes in it.
This is not a story about becoming strong.
This is a story about discovering how weak you have to be to carry someone else’s apocalypse.
Warhammer 40,000 × Darksiders fanfiction.
All related characters and settings belong to Games Workshop and Vigil Games/THQ Nordic.